


Stripper's Secret Shame

by Foundation Master (LawJust)



Category: Original Work
Genre: ENM, Embarrassed Naked Men, Erotica, Gay, Gay Male Character, M/M, Penis Size, Premature Ejaculation, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Situational Humiliation, Size Kink, Small Penis, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Verbal Humiliation, small penis humiliation, sph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawJust/pseuds/Foundation%20Master
Summary: Plagued with poverty, a young, muscular handsome man considers a stint as a lavish stripper, however he has one 'tiny' secret. A secret he will do anything within his power to keep...
Kudos: 11





	Stripper's Secret Shame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@SphFan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40SphFan), [Jwood23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwood23/gifts).



“You have a really nice body. And that is putting it lightly," spoke Steve Michaels, his silvery eyes sweeping over the burly tautness of Sam's physique. "We could use someone like you down at our bar."

Sam flushed, stammering muddled words while collecting Steve's used cutlery and plates.

Given his vast height, hard-muscled body and boy-next-door handsomeness, Samuel "Sam" Christian was no stranger to compliments. For him, it seemed almost impossible to not find a person who did not believe he mirrored an overwhelmingly attractive, wealthy, white frat boy. Though his looks inciting a job prospect was a first.

"What was that…um…Samuel?" questioned Steve, eyeing the badge over the waiter's right chest.

Sam swung his head.

"Sorry, Mr Michaels. Let me collect your plates. Then we can continue to talk."

Steve nodded, a small smile playing along his lips on watching the young man hasten towards the rear of the restaurant. Upon passing through the double traffic doors, Sam dropped the collected tableware onto a counter; the clatter startling some employees in the kitchen. He took several deep breaths, wiping the perspiration clinging onto his short locks, styled to match his prim, clean-shaven appearance.

Strangely enough, he could not explain his tenseness. If anything, he should be excited. With this being his last year in university, debt riddled his transition to adulthood. And despite his "wealthy, white frat boy" hallmarks, he was anything but privileged. His parents worked day in, day out to provide for him and his three younger brothers, though their collective dedications and efforts barely paid off their mortgage and other essentials. Sam and his brothers worked part-time jobs, out of necessity, to afford basic luxuries others took for granted.

Sam sighed, mumbling an apology to his concerned colleagues before placing the tableware in the sink behind him. As he washed, his mind lingered once more regarding his debt, which centred on his wishes for stability.

Financial stability.

At times, he wondered if that was his life's purpose. To work so hard he'd escape virtual poverty since nothing ever came easy for him or his brothers. Since high school, his plan was to graduate a good university, get an outstanding job (preferably six figures within five years), and finally–

Sam froze for a minute, looking downwards towards his relaxed fit black work pants, putting on view his firm thighs and calves. A family of his own would require a relationship. He shook his head, resuming the dish washing.

In a few months, he will already complete his first goal. And given he is attending one of the top universities in the country, he was bound to succeed in the second. Sadly, despite his grand academic performance yielding acceptance at Harvard, his lack of extracurriculars did not qualify him for any full-ride scholarships. An unfortunate reality when most, if not all, your free time is spent working odd jobs. After graduation, Sam will owe the United States government over $100K in debt. $100K he promised to pay back to his overwhelmingly proud parents.

A promise he could not consummate if he maintained his occupation as a college senior waiter at the restaurant by his school. If this mysterious Steve Michaels made due on his promise, Sam would be a waiter at his bar, making triple or quadruple his current salary.

Which would mean over fifty to seventy bucks…an hour!

Unheard of for a waiter. Hell, for most jobs.

Even with tips.

But if this was an opportunity to ease him into his next goals, he would take it with minimal questions. After drying the dishes and utensils, Sam exited through the double doors only to find Steve leaving through the front. At once, he bolted, knocking over a couple silverware from the tables beside him, which alerted the 30-year-old man. Steve chuckled at the panting Sam, passing him his business card between his index and middle fingers.

Sam snatched the satin document, reddening at his scramble.

"Sorry, Samuel. Got to go, but please meet me at the address on the card tomorrow. I am free any time between six and nine during the evening."

Steve winked, taking in Sam once more with his eyes. The young man flushed.

"See you later…big guy."

* * *

The balmy weather of the next day endowed Sam with a reposeful affect as he strode towards the location on Steve's card. Dollar signs filled his sharp-witted noggin. He considered various expenses he put off because he did not have the cash. Like new shoes without a loose heel. Or a bookbag not desperately held together by prayers and hopes. But as he continued his walk down the streets of Cambridge, his calm turned to mild anxiety. The open public spaces filled with contemporary and 19th century international and art deco architecture became narrow streets with neon lights decorating Renaissance styled constructions.

Scantly cladded men and women alike wooed him with their eyes and lips as he avoided their attention. His focus was on the building before him, flashing with strong red and blue phosphorescent signs. Sam wavered, hearing the thuds of the thumping music playing within the bar. Upon looking up, he noticed what the signs spelt.

ELYSIUM.

Isn’t that the gay bar?

Sam remembered his youngest brother going there with his male partner and a couple friends after they turned eighteen. He declined but always wondered what the inside looked like given its status as one of the more successful 'red-light' companies.

Upon walking inside, a merged darkness couple with light flashes and sweet piquant aromas greeted Sam along with the loud techno and electronic popular music. Through the flares of white and rainbow, Sam caught sight of the countless attractive men who filled the room, each dressed in meagre attires that barely covered their bodily assets. From the muscle-bound bodybuilder to the fit twink, the men ambled about with playful smiles and coy eyes as they served drinks.

Sam jumped, roars of praise and laughter directed towards the centre stage which featured a tall, athletic black man. Sam admired the pearly bikini briefs, open black vest, and glittering golden bands on his ankles and wrist. Like the varied eyes of his audience, he traced every part of his defined musculature while he performed an evocative striptease. Though for Sam, he could not help but trace the vast prominence within the stripper's briefs, which sprung up and down as he gyrated his bronze hips. Complete with a pole, a crowd of horny men eager to stuff dollar bills down the tight-fitting underwear of the stripper surrounded the stage.

As Sam grew aroused by the erotic show, he felt a tap on his right shoulder.

The young man's skin radiated upon turning around. Eye-to-eye, Steve was a bit shorter than the already tall Sam. But that did nothing to detract from his chiselled pectorals, erect nipples and abdominals almost bursting through his slim white shirt. He patted Sam on his back, the oakmoss scent of his cologne exciting him more so than the stripper. Steve directed Sam through the crowd. They passed through a small hallway to an elevator. Upon entering the cart, Steve pressed five.

Sam's eyes widened.

Did most bars have five floors?

“Glad you came Samuel," started Steve, shifting about in his dark, suede shoes. "I should have told you this was a gay bar. That won't be a problem? Will it?”

Steve asked with a raised eyebrow which made Sam flush even more. The older man chuckled, patting Sam's back once more.

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” he replied, “but what exactly do you need me to do here?”

The elevator doors opened, leading the two men down a hall with interior glass and custom designed walls. Steve answered.

“Well Samuel–"

"Sam."

"Hmm?"

Steve gave Sam an inquiring look. The young man laughed bashfully.

"You can call me Sam."

Steve beamed, one of those smiles that made you melt. At least for Sam.

"Steve. Not Mr Michaels. Please, I'm old enough."

The two laughed as they entered Steve's office. A large, sleek and luxurious modern style space defined by its light and dark colours and marble, polished textures. Steve gestured towards an upholstered love seat while he sat across from him in another chair. He placed his mobile on the round glass table before pulling out a small cord from his chair and plugging his phone. Steve gave Sam a nod, gesturing that he may do the same, if needed.

"Now to answer your question, Sam. One of our top strippers just quit this month. He began working at Global E faster than I expected, thus I have not had time to seek a replacement."

Sam's jaw dropped. Global E was a top multinational technology company. Known for their superb and ambitious electronics and software, along with their high employee satisfaction. A satisfaction so high no one ever quit. Sam hoped the company would accept him. But if an Elysium stripper got hired–maybe he had a chance?

At that moment, Sam noticed Steve's attention was elsewhere. Before he rocked his head and continued to speak.

"As you can tell, Elysium takes pride in our employee picks. We choose men who can look and play the part in our business. It seems simple, but most work of this nature attracts distaste. You see, Sam, while we strive to intoxicate our men with lust, we expect our employees to do so with respectability and class. I’ve been scouring the entire city looking for a worthy replacement. When I saw you taking orders in that fitting uniform of yours and treating each customer with style, I just knew you were the one.”

Sam looked down. He would like to be 'the one' for someone someday.

“But, as with all prospects, I must examine the goods. While we are not against the notion of body acceptance, we understand the attractiveness of our men lies within their raw masculinity. You have a great face, but let's see if the rest of your body match.”

“Right now?!” Sam exclaimed, before taking a hefty gulp of air. “I wasn’t really prepared for this. Besides, you said I looked well in my 'fitting uniform.'”

Steve eyed Sam for a moment before speaking.

“You can’t be modest with this job, Sam,” spoke Steve resolutely. “You want to make a lot of money, don’t you?”

Sam blinked rapidly at Steve, his mouth going dry upon his attempt to say another word. In the end, he conceded, removing his already opened grey-chequered flannel. He cringed, noting a small, but growing hole in the shirt's pit.

Now he stood before Steve in a white V-neck tee shirt, somewhat self-conscious at the modest but clear gaps in his collars and waist. Steve smiled, indifferent to Sam's apparel's misgivings. He admired the young man's broad arms bulging from the sleeves of his top along with his commensurately distended pecs. And the chiselled abdominals prominent in the cotton fabric folds. Steve's lips drew apart, his awe making his rose brown skin more rose than brown at that very moment. Sam noticed a momentary calm taking hold before realising he had more clothes to discard.

"Doing nicely, big guy."

He sighed, pulling his shirt upwards from the waist, displaying the substantial framework of his muscular upper body. Modesty did not explain Sam's hesitance. Far from it. If anything, Sam felt pride and fondness for his godly body, especially towards his sculpted eight-pack abs. It represented all the assiduous commitments he shouldered throughout his life to help make ends meet. Yet, life dealt him something else apart from poverty. An unfortunate hand outside his immediate control. Although Sam's quads, calves, hams, and glutes possessed the fine carvings attributed to the skill of a high renaissance sculptor, his nether regions were said artist's afterthought.

In a few words. Or inches.

Sam was born with a micropenis.

Well, a growth hormone deficiency per his endocrinologist, though the correct term had no bearing in his case. When erect, Sam neared, but did not meet three inches. Flaccid, he barely had anything there. Just a tiny, fat nub where his circumcised glans poked out. His only 'saving graces' were his girth and balls were of somewhat normal sizes, although smaller than most he had seen in gym locker rooms.

Or even his own younger brothers and father.

But his larger balls, like the rest of his massive body, only served making his penis appear smaller. And the larger girth, compared to his length, only made his dick resemble a small pear versus the wanted eggplant.

For years, even before obtaining medical help, Sam knew he was abnormal 'down there.' Whether it was his family. The guys at school. Or even pornography. Every guy had a bulge, if small. A dick with enough length to swing or bob. A cock one could see and unanimously confirm 'this is a man.' By the time Sam could afford health insurance and seek his current doctor, he was more or less too late to fix his size. No number of hormones or drugs could help him grow.

Well, his doctor discussed a surgery. But last time they talked, it was over $200,000 with most insurances, including his Harvard one, declining to pay even a smidgen.

Sam's entire body tingled with worry. His greatest shame deprived him of potential relationships, true confidence, and granted him a slew of anxiety issues. But he was lucky to keep this secret to himself. Only his doctor knew how small the "big guy" was. But now he was placing it in the spotlight. Before a man he thinks he may be catching feelings.

“I-I d-d-don’t have to get naked, d-do I?” Sam asked.

Steve's expression slackened, giving Sam a nod before rapidly shaking his head. He chuckled, waving his hands.

“No frontal nudity here,” started the older man, his smile unfading. “We expect our performers to adhere to a dress code. Don’t worry, we provide everything for you to wear.”

That provided little comfort. If the expected attire were like the beefy black stripper he saw earlier, his glaring lack of endowment would still be visible to all in the skimpy underwear required of him. No sexy bulge to salivate over, like he had just done himself. To the expected displeasure of his crowd, his masculine essence would have looked much closer to a womanly clit rather than a manly cock.

Steve eyed Sam intensely once more, before placing his arms over his bared, broad shoulders. Sam flinched, warming at the rough texture of Steve's hands against his skin.

“You should know we handle assaults seriously here. Neither patrons nor colleagues are allowed to touch you without permission. They're escorted out and blacklisted from returning. Additionally, we take legal action as necessary. We do everything in our power to protect our employees.”

Steve collected Sam's discarded clothing, giving them to him.

"I apologise, Sam. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. How about this? Come back tomorrow afternoon during practice. We'll complete all the paperwork then. I can introduce you to some of the other guys and we can do your pre-trial run. Same location, just head to the basement."

Sam nodded slowly, only to perk up at Steve hugging him. His anxiety settled once the older man pulled away, patting him roughly on his back.

"Do not fret, big guy. You will do great. Are you ready to be a part of the Elysium family?"

Steve's greys gazed into Sam's brown eyes, making the young man's chest thud.

He needed the money. He needed to protect his family from additional financial strain. He needed to escape the cycle of poverty plaguing him since childhood. Sam stared at the worn clothing in his hands before nodding.

"Yes…"

* * *

Sam danced before the guys, dressed in the same silver bikini briefs, black vest and golden bands of the black stripper he saw yesterday. They regarded him in awe, complimenting his skill as he turned his focus to grinding along the pole. The men admired his burly, bubble ass, never losing sight of his slow flexes and gyrating pelvis. They gasped as he spun his disrobed vest in the air, demonstrating his commanding strength via his biceps and triceps from both arms. He cast it into the audience, them scurrying to catch the attire. Sam chuckled, then slowly massaged his beefy chest and upper pelvis. He motioned suggestively against the cool prop.

A darkness descended. The faces of his audience fading, for a moment, before the flashes.

"Doing well, big guy."

Sam smiled, the lights highlighting Steve's diamond face. He and the rest of the audience applauded as Sam thrusted towards the air. But as he did, deep titters and snickers trickled in his ears. Soon they grew overwhelming and replaced the admiration he had incurred. Sam jerked, his bikini briefs becoming tighter and tighter with each passing moment. He clung the pole behind him; sudden titillation spreading from his groin throughout his limbs.

"You have a great face, but…"

Sam moaned aloud, his deep intonation inciting crude laughter rather than sexual decadence.

"…let's see if the rest of your body match.”

The briefs came apart, flying out into the evanescent darkness. All around him, men pointed and laughed as Sam's entire body staggered. But upon him trying to cover his shame, a sharp frisson passed through him. He thrusted his chest outwards; taking a deep breath. A moan, now coupled with a deeper groan, escaped his lips once again.

"Look at that little thing! Are you really a man, Sam?!"

"No amount of money or exercise will fix that!"

"Jesus! Is he hard?!"

Sam looked down, his reddening expression blanching upon finding his micro cock as hard as a rock, each twitch tensing the muscles in his body.

"P-Please! S-Stop laughing!"

Sam's words died on deaf ears, the men falling about with heavy laughter, unable to catch their breaths upon seeing the scarce inches standing proud at the stripper's crotch. Sam attempted to cover his nether region again, but the sharp pleasure was even stronger than before. His thighs and ass tensed, while the high pressure of his pulse pounded against his frame. The contractions at the base of his dick increased. Continuing without abandon. The surrounding men broke into more fits and hysterics.

Sam closed his eyes, wishing for everything to end right there and then, only for them to bolt open at feeling the familiar calluses massaging the fat glans of his meagre piece. Sam's throat bobbed, his widened eyes gazing down at Steve, who nudged and prodded his dick with slipping snorts from his broadening smirk.

"I'm disappointed, Sam. Your little prick isn't worth the money. Not at all."

Sam attempted to speak, only for his voice to hitch on his budding pleasure. The pressure neared its maximum, the muscles beneath his cock slowly contracting now that he was as hard and rigid as he could be. Such a significant expanse of his short shaft and head. He never felt so large, yet so small.

Steve rose his index finger and thumb to Sam's glans, gesturing an inch to the young guy, much to the audience's continued delight.

“Your raw masculinity is sorely lacking, Sam. I'm sorry, but you are not a good fit for Elysium."

Sam moaned, his rebuttal once more falling prey to his creeping pleasure.

"Good luck…little guy.”

"Three!" cried aloud the audience.

Steve gave Sam's prick one flick. With a groan, Sam bucked his hips forward.

"Two!"

Pleasure radiated throughout the gasping young man. The pressure underside of his dick and balls flowed upwards, making him thrust forward. Steve laughed.

"One!"

Sam wailed at the flashes radiating within the room. Some from the bar's strobe lights. Others the audience's cameras and phones. He cupped his ears, the lights fading away into darkness as he fell. Fell. Fell.

* * *

The beeping blared in Sam's ears, making him fall off his bed.

"Ouch!" he shouted, rubbing the back of his crown as he slammed his hands along the side table in efforts to find his alarm clock.

After a few minutes, he located the 'stop' button, giving him sometime to settle his racing heart. And to catch a few breaths. He sighed, looking downwards at his loose, patterned cotton boxer shorts where his straining two and four-fifth inches poked out his buttoned flaps.

Sam grimaced, not at the pathetic display of his erected manhood through the gaps of his closed undies but at the messy, sticky dampness soaking the entire front of his shorts. He removed and flung the garment across his room into the hamper by his wooden desk and trunk. Sam looked at his sheets, wincing at the mess he made there too. He sighed, taking his desk fan and placing it by his bed, then turning it on.

He quickly checked his bank account balance on his phone before emitting a strong groan. Still a few dollars and change. His pay cheque did not come in.

"I can't afford to wash another load this week," murmured Sam, who sat his bare, bubble buttocks on the rough, grey needle punch carpet.

Soon he will head over to Elysium for his pre-trial run and paperwork. He could not reveal his small secret if he was truly considering his stint as a stripper. Steve was right. The audience desired raw masculinity. While he delivered on good looks and muscle, he could not deliver where it counts. At least not completely. Sam contemplated more, before quickly standing at the prospect of an idea.

Elysium disallowed frontal nudity. This means, at worst, he would struggle with the lack of bulge rather than dick. The former could be rectified with more illusionary tactics. Sam shuffled through his drawers, collecting the largest tube sock and the tightest underpants he owned, which was tighty whities. He cupped his entire package, easily done with one hand, establishing it in the socks’ opening, before folding the sock into itself several times. Once he was okay with his appearance, he pulled up his briefs before standing in front of the full-length mirror behind the entry door to his dorm room.

"Whoa."

At best, a fat imprint of his glans was now a thick, sizeable bulge that showed he was a man. He stripped off his shirt, flexing and posing before the mirror, all smiles. Was this the body of masculinity? Of confidence? Of a proper fit for Elysium?

"Yes," he said.

Prepared to tackle the day. And anything it threw at him.

And in that moment, the doorway opened, revealing one of his hall residents who jumped at seeing his scantly cladded Resident Advisor standing before him with a front double biceps pose. The 19-year-old smouldered with embarrassment, eyes widening at Sam's thick bulge before muttering his apology and slamming the door. Sam shuffled towards the entrance, locking it before sliding his back downwards the wooden texture. Though Sam's overhasty gasps settled upon hearing the younger man saying the following, to who he presumed was his friend:

"He's freaking hung!"

Haha.

Hung.

Words Sam thought he would never hear describe him.

He merely smirked, hoping the others will think so too.

* * *

The exterior of Elysium looked tremendously different in the morning compared to its nightlife incarnation. The same for the rest of the red-light area, now reflective of the New England buildings and structures. Upon entering once more, the tranquillity, immaculateness and progressiveness of the bar's interior bewildered Sam. Who would have thought beneath the façade of a 'gay party locale' was the constitution of an elegant atmosphere comprising a boutique restaurant and lounge area with upscale customisations?

Sam approached the elevators, pressing the button for the lower levels. Upon exiting, he followed the upbeat popular music reminiscent of yesterday to a large, white room. Inside were stripper poles, illuminated dance mirrors along the walls, and the standard mats for motor skills/training, a complex stereo system, and gym equipment all on marley flooring.

Steve waved Sam over as he talked to the strippers, one of them being the one Sam saw last night.

"Good afternoon!" spoke the man with an accented English, taking Sam's hands. "My name is Kujoe."

"Good afternoon. Samuel. Sam, for short."

Kujoe nodded, addressing Sam with a bright smile before Steve spoke.

"Thanks, Kujoe. To finish up, your routine is okay for tomorrow. Ensure the others know so they can adjust accordingly."

"Thank you, sir. I will do so now."

Kujoe left, leaving Sam and Steve alone.

"Glad to see you have made it, big guy!" exclaimed Steve, shaking Sam's hands. "I was pretty sure I scared you off yesterday. But you look to be in better spirits today?"

"I am," answered Sam, a smile creeping on his lips as he subtly gripped his groin.

"Great!" said Steve, taking Sam's shoulders as he led him to a practising stripper.

The young man's eyes scanned each brawny bulge. Each flex. Each stretch. As the men spun. Gyrated. Perform in their pursuit to become better. To be better. The most clothing all the strippers wore were compression tank shirts and jogging shorts. The least were small, flimsy thongs.

Suddenly Sam's heart raced, wondering if his stuffed sock could support the rapid and swirling manoeuvres on the dance floor. Also, could he conceal his stuffing in scantier undergarments like the thongs or bikini briefs similar of Kujoe's?

More embarrassing than having a tiny dick would be for others to know that you know. For others to know that you are so bothered, you will undertake all measures to conceal your insecurity. For Sam, external justification of his embarrassment was an embarrassment.

"Sam, this is Sean Huan. Sean, this is Samuel Christian, but goes by the nickname Sam."

A tentative smile replaced the confident one he had before as he shook Sean's hands, though that smile had soon faded, when Sam acknowledged Sean's steelier-than-necessary grips around his palms. He caught Sean's dark brown eyes, finding the amiability of his grin far-from-met the rigour present within. As they released hands, Sam admired his body. While smaller than him, the young Chinese-American was around average height, maybe five-feet, eight-or-nine inches. Though the averages ended there. Along with his broad shoulders and chest, Sean possessed a well-built, sinewy body representative of a low calorie-high protein diet. Like Sam, his shapely, defined upper and lower body masses compared to competing bodybuilders, but unlike Sam, he owned a meaty member of considerable length that hung leisurely in his pouched jock.

Sam flushed, his own member growing even smaller, slackening the socks which had minimal length to cling on towards.

"Sam, Sean is one of my best strippers. He worked with Tristian before he left for Global E. My go-to men. I want you to train under Sean, if you decide to join the Elysium family."

"I think I'm ready to join," spoke Sam, his eyes not leaving Sean.

"Great. Sean, please prep the stage and bring over the men. Sam is going to complete his run."

A radiant glow coated the Asian American as he nodded excitedly towards Steve. He blankly watched Sam follow Steve to the dressing rooms on the left-hand side of the studio.

Through the small wooden doors were a series of dark partitions for the dozen changing rooms, all closed by two-panelled square hollow core doors lacking top and bottom frames. The archway on the right led to an extensive closet filled with several dozen special outfits. The costumes ranged from the standard _police officer_ to the more nuanced _medical professional._ Steve gave Sam a general overview of the outfits he would have to wear during his day-by-day.

"In short, place each outfit in the cleaning hamper after use. Underwear are not shared. Select outfits in advance and store them in the personalised dressing rooms so the other strippers do not use them. And last, each piece of clothing is designed to be torn off swiftly in one motion to avoid delays in strip shows, which cannot run longer than five minutes unless approved by me."

Sam inspected an entire drawer of tight and revealing thongs, G-strings, jocks, and bikini briefs. All of them would completely expose his butt and leave little to the imagination in the front. For his pre-trial run, Steve had already selected an outfit–a divine Greek costume comprising a short-sleeved golden robe with matching wrist cuffs, laurel wreath, mini trunks and G-string. Along with a waist belt detailing the Elysium emblem at its centre.

Steve directed Sam to a changing room upon both of them leaving the closet.

"All right, Sam. Wear these and meet us out front. You can store your street clothes in the safe. It lists the code instructions inside the door."

Steve gave a sympathetic smile, noticing the sweat glistening from the younger man's temple.

"Hey. Look at me."

Sam did, immediately quelling upon meeting Steve's eyes.

"Out there, those men yearn for all that you offer. And it's within your power to give or withhold that. They see the you that you want them to see. Not the other way around. You see Sam, you're providing these men a fantasy. You're the object of their desires. They'll do anything to be with you. Because a guy like you is difficult to get out there in the streets."

Steve placed his arms around Sam's broad shoulders, looking him deep within his eyes.

"Here at Elysium, you are whoever you want to be. Embrace that power. That freedom. And you'll do fine. Got it, big guy?"

Sam nodded, flushing as Steve squeezed his shoulders, showing him a swift smile.

"Don't keep us waiting," spoke Steve, before leaving.

Sam trudged to the changing room, locking the door before shedding all of his clothing, including his tight white briefs. As he slipped out of his underpants, he caught his folded tube sock. A nasty gurgle escaped him, rustling from his chest. The sock could barely hold on to his penis, currently 'hanging' a quarter inch at most. With his thumb and index fingers, Sam stroked the head of his cock, looking upwards as he thought about Steve.

His grey eyes…

His broad smile…

His perfectly fit body.

He flushed, moaning lightly at the thought of Steve's chiselled pecs and abs threatening to rip open his fitted white shirt from yesterday. Steve would look about the tattered clothing around him, giving Sam a smirk coupled with a wink.

"Sorry, big guy. You know how it is."

He would then leisure on towards the nervous Sam, placing his large, strong palms against his face.

"First time, big guy?"

Sam would nod, his body heat betraying him. But Steve would place his forehead against Sam's own. Looking the younger guy in the eyes. A calm would settle Sam, a blissful stillness between the two before Steve lowered his lips, eventually meeting his own.

His first kiss.

The budding stripper would open his eyes he had closed, falling back as Steve nudged him onto the love seat behind them. The older man would throw off his shoes, making Sam laugh as the suede footwear flew beside him, before swiftly pulling down his pants. Sam's eyes would widen at the thin low-ride briefs struggling to contain Steve's large cock and balls. In jest, Steve would stroll toward Sam, like his employed strippers, descending upon the young man with pelvic thrusts swaying his package. Then, with his arms, he would cage the naked Samuel Christian, kissing him a few more times along his lips before cascading his bared chest, towards his abdomen and to his steel-like, small cock.

Sam moaned aloud, feeling the pressure build up at the back end of his dick, pulling away from his rapid edge.

He had to be three inches with the intensity at which his manhood pulsed.

He glided the sock along his prick, the subtle graze causing him to moan, then sculpted it before dressing in the rest of his attire. The G-string, to his satisfaction, covered the entirety of his front. Looks like Steve was serious about non-frontal nudity. This allowed Sam to cover any traces of his sock. Even if anyone suspected anything amiss, they could not confirm. Even less when he is on stage, dancing at a distance. Upon putting on the robe and mini trunks, he could not stop wondering if he had a chance with Steve. Would the 30-year-old man embrace his tiny cock, or ridicule it like he envisioned others would.

He hoped to never find out…

Happy with the outfit, Sam locked his belongings in the safe and re-entered the dance studio.

The music blared in his ears when nearing the makeshift stage with a singular pole at the centre. Kujoe and Sean stood at the edge. The other strippers were scattered about. Though they observed Sam with a mixture of lust and cogitation. His nerves were about to kick in, but seeing Steve's gentle eyes dissolved his anxiety. He had no choice but to smirk.

He was their fantasy. He had the power to be what he wants them to see.

Sam swaggered towards them, swaying his shoulders and hips while flexing his arms and protruding glutes. He gripped the stage's edge, doing a short handstand allowing his legs to clutch the pole as he lifted his upper body to grab it proper. He winked at the puffing and panting men, before spinning around the cylindrical steel and onto the ground.

Sam gripped his package, smiling at the sock's ability to stay in place, before gyrating upwards against the pole. The other men moved towards the stage. Many with smiles and wonder-filled eyes as Sam danced for them. Sean looked about, his brows furrowing at the sudden interest, though his face flushed immensely upon noticing Steve gazing at Sam. The older man's expression slackened and brightened as he gripped the side of his thighs.

By the time Sean returned his attention to Sam, the young man was grinding and twisting his hips; his body descending downwards as he flexed both his arms before gripping his hands and raising them above his head. He swirled his chest and hips at various intervals, using this time to play with his belt and swing it over to Kujoe, who gripped the ends. The men's mouths loosened and eyebrows raised, as Sam pulled himself along the belt to Kujoe, his robe flittering about him and showing the high-definition of his powerful upper body. Before Kujoe, Sam discarded his robe, ensuring he gripped his crotch before tossing the top to the stripper.

Sam placed the crown on Kujoe's head, giving him a quick wink before dancing before the others. In the minutes of popping and grinding his legs, chest and hips, Sam had stripped to his golden trunks. He stood before all the men playing with his waistband. His hips swayed along the electronic beat.

Sam gestured towards the attire, raising his eyebrows at his audience who cried aloud: "Take it off! Take it off!"

He playfully shook his head, their requests for his disrobing mounting. He simpered at the various bulges erecting in the men's briefs and thongs, varying from the monstrous size of Kujoe's towards more modest proportions. But Sam could not take his eyes away from Steve, who watched him earnestly; his now piercing eyes scanning him from head-to-toe.

Sam gave a singular nod to his future employer, who smirked, before ripping away the trunks. He stood before them in the thin, G-string highlighting the thick spheres of his muscular ass and the grand bulge of his false package.

The men cried aloud as the music stopped, causing Sam to take a bow before them. He caught a towel from one stripper, before noticing Steve standing up. He blushed, perceiving the hint of a bulge forming in the man’s fitting pants. He caught on, offering Sam a sly wag of his eyebrows before heading towards the stage to present him.

"Men, do you think Mr Christian is Elysium material?"

Each of them gave a resounding "Yes" with a couple of "Fuck yeah(s)" in between. Laughter resounded before Steve turned to Sam. His face alight, as if seeing him for the first time.

"You're in, big guy?"

Sam looked towards Sean, who had left the dance studio, before he met Steve’s eyes.

"Is that even a question?" 

* * *

The months following Sam joining the Elysium team were nothing short of spectacular. If Sam considered his pre-trial with the strippers an immense success, his trial when on stage for the first day was a prodigious achievement.

Being a gay man himself, he knew exactly how to work the crowd. Exactly how to enroot more of their relishing.

Going by the name, Sam the Man, he catered to their fantasies and made them realities.

Of course, Sam's youthful looks and athletic body had a role in the above. And one could not forget his trusty rolled-up sock either. In time, he had fooled everybody in the audience into thinking he was the formulaic gay man's dream: a powerfully built fellow filled with exaggerated _machismo_ further construed by his well-endowed prurient prowess. At times, the excitement became significant enough he would even believe it himself. Not a single person caught on to the fact he had stuffed his thongs or briefs with a sock. By the end of his performances, he had already earned a few hundred dollars in tips.

Certainly, more than he made as a waiter.

“You're a natural up there! I think you have what it takes to be our headliner!” praised Steve, handing Sam an envelope with his base pay and a promise there would be even more if he continued to deliver.

Sam's eyes widened upon looking at the check. He equalled his month’s pay in just a week at Elysium.

Definitely, more than he made as a waiter.

While Sam's relationship with the strippers blossomed, particularly with Kujoe, the same could not be said with his mentor Sean. Their interactions were minimal at best, with Sam seeking Kujoe's help regarding certain dance tips and tricks when preparing for shows. Though as Sam continued his growth, he found Sean's indifferences turning into antagonism.

"You look like a clown. You should wear something else."

"I don't know what happened to the rings for that suit. I guess you have to find another getup. Do it quick, you start in ten."

"You're losing definition in your chest. Better stop eating out."

While Sam mostly ignored the overt childish bullying, it grated on him, especially when Elysium became his sole form of income after quitting his waiter job by his third month on board. Luckily, all the strippers stood up for Sam in the beginning, but soon the culture became a "Us versus Them" scenario where the senior strippers, who worked with Sean for years, had supported him instead.

But no matter. With the larger income and growing confidence, Sam became an unstoppable force in both his personal and work life. To where Sean's poignant attacks were grossly ignored, much to the other's amusement.

Sam dated more in the past few months than he did for the last four years. He became assertive and confident, taking initiative when needs be. Sure, he was still a virgin, and ended any endeavours upon turning sexual, but still the fact he started them gave him a sense of pride he did not realise he had.

With his new found money, Sam had replaced his entire wardrobe. No longer did he own shirts with holes or had to worry about washing multiple times a week. He even switched his trusty tube socks with a realistic silicone packer, providing him a boost in his self-esteem at the urinals, which he could now use without fear of pissing himself. Granted, Sam maintained diligence with staying within his outlined budgets, but now he had a sense of security. One that extended to his family. It empowered him when his mother and father expressed their gratitude about a small bill he paid, or when his younger brothers thanked him for their personal notebook computers, allowing them to efficiently work on class assignments. Though they were polite not to ask, he was sure they were wondering where he got his money.

Though hesitant discussing this information at first, Sam had little reservations now.

Why wouldn't he? Elysium was reputable. From all over the city, gay and straight men recognised him. The respect and lust he manifested in his wake were mere perks to his confidence that the dollar bills did not supply.

His newfound self-esteem pushed him to take more risks. Aside from the stage performances, Sam agreed to lap dances for extra cash. He would only perform for people he trusted–mainly the wealthy, well-dressed regulars. He even started inviting people to grab his ass, enjoying their youthful giddiness upon touching the manifestation of their pining. Still, Sam took proper care to divert attention from his stuffed thong. He allowed no hands near his groin. And tips were only stuffed in the back.

"You were on fire tonight, big guy! Tell me, did that drunk fool really cream his pants?!"

Sam laughed, giving a quick nod as Steve placed one arm around his bared shoulders. They both fell into hysterics while walking along the corridor into Steve's office.

Sam stood by the love seat before Steve. In the time since he started, Steve treated Sam more like a friend than an employee. Though he did not want to admit it, Sam still lusted after his boss, even more upon Steve becoming more fit and partaking in strip shows, at Sam's insistence. The strippers were shocked to say the least. The only other person who made Steve "act out" was the stripper before Sam, Tristian.

To Sam's surprise, Steve did not appear as hung as he thought he would be. Maybe two inches at most when flaccid (granted it was still larger than him). But that made him desire him more.

"So, big guy, I wanted to ask if you were willing to be the lead at the private party in two weeks?"

Sam's eyes widened. The Warrens (same surname; different families) were one of the newer wealthy and prestigious couples in the Western world. Their arduous efforts regarding their support in legalising gay marriages within all fifty states in the U.S was something all people could commend. When they decided to marry in their home state of Massachusetts, people were thrilled. When they chose to have their dual bachelor party at Elysium, they were ecstatic!

Steve handled the set up for the private party, but Sean was to be the lead…

"Before you ask, Sean has been performing less than stellar as of late. I am not sure what's going on, but I cannot have his dwindling display take place before the Warrens. I think you are more than a suitable replacement."

"Steve…um…I'm flattered. I would be happy to do this."

Steve laughed aloud, giving Sam a hearty hug, to which the younger man returned. He took in the warmth emanating from his employer's broad chest and arms. As Sam nestled his head against Steve's broad shoulders, Steve pulled aside. But while slowly parting, he stopped and gazed into Sam's eyes.

A moment of silence. Pure silence.

And then he placed his lips against Sam's. A kiss. Gentle, yet firm and soon strong, his tongue caressing Sam's own.

The young man's heart raced, his cock hardening against his packer as Steve caressed his broad arms before positioning his hands to his waist and his thick buttocks. Sam moaned, pulling away as Steve's warm pecks kneaded the side of his neck. His hard-worked arms encircled Steve's trunk as the older man stripped his top and flung it some place inside the room. Sam's body warmed in line with his boss', whose movements, while paced before, grew more carnal and primal. He could now feel Steve's erection pulsing against his thigh, the shaft radiating as much warmth as the two combined. Steve's fingers transcended the open jock, lightly spanking Sam's buttocks which made him moan. The older man slyly grinned, doing so multiple times. Sam's pulse raced and breath stuttered.

"I want you now, Sam."

But as Steve's hands descended to his waist, Sam panicked. He pulled away from Steve, looking into his eyes. Sam then turned away.

"Shit…" mumbled Steve, which made Sam flinch.

Steve lowered his head then looked to his right. His lips sealed, pressed together as if to hold back frustration or defeat.

An awkward pause settled within the area, one of Sam looking at the hurt creeping on his boss' face. But before he could say anything, Steve broke the short hesitancy.

"I-I-I will change the set up. I'll see you tomorrow…right Sam?" Steve looked into Sam's eyes, hopeful.

Sam gave a shy smile.

"Of course, big guy."

Steve smiled, releasing his held breath before giving a nod.

Sam waved goodbye before leaving the office, his body searing at what had taken place. He was so close.

So close…but what would Steve think when he saw the tiny truth.

He just needed to focus on the show. It will never happen and he must accept it.

Regrettably, as Sam entered the elevator, he did not notice the frenzied tears of the man he passed when leaving the office. The one who heard everything. The one who watched the two kissing like depraved lovers. The one who would make him pay.

Sean left the corridor, taking the stairs to leave out the rear entrance of the bar.

Sam will suffer…

* * *

Extraordinary Music.

Mouth-watering Drinks.

Delightful Laughter.

And joy across the board.

Elysium was living it up! And there was no end in sight. Kujoe left a stage, sweating so fantastically the others thought he took a midnight swim. Sam threw him a towel and bottled water, to which his friend grinned, drinking it in one gulp. After he finished, he tossed the container into a small recycling bin, beckoning another bottle to which Sam obliged. Mid-gulp, he breathed out.

"They're going to lose their heads once you perform the next show, Sam. They're already going crazy!"

"I hope so Kujoe. I prepared this routine just for the Warrens."

"They'll love it."

Sam sneaked a peek from behind a staff room wall on the second floor, taking in the considerable crowd of the completely booked private party. The younger Warren was around Sam's age. The older was about Steve's. With a few dozen of their closest gay friends in attendance, it made sense the crowd was a bit younger than usual. Most were around Sam’s age or slightly older. He hoped they were good tippers.

A large hand slapped Sam's bared buttocks in his jockstrap. He jumped, turning to find Kujoe, Steve, along with the younger strippers, holding a big strawberry and vanilla chiffon cake with sparkling party candles. Sam laughed; the two men holding his back as he blew out the sweet aroma flares. They cried aloud, giving Sam hugs or uttering their many words of 'congratulations.'

"You didn't think we'd forget you're a recent Harvard Graduate, did you?! The Warrens are not the only people we're celebrating today!"

"Thank you, guys…" spoke Sam, looking at the cake for a few seconds before directing his attention to the group.

"No big guy, thank you," started Steve, giving the younger man a seductive wink before softening his expression.

"You've done so much for the team. We've all watched you grow from the shy man you were to the confident beast you are now. After tonight, the actual party will begin. Right men?!"

The room resounded with affirmation.

"Get ready. I'll let you know when to come out on stage," spoke Steve. He squeezed Sam's right hand.

The young man twittered all over, struggling to steady his hammering chest and far-reaching smile. He bounced down the stairs to the dressing room to collect the attire he picked out for the party: a firefighter costume with a black, reflective leather vest that stopped mid-abdomen with matching mini trunks that had bright red suspenders. The vest's collar and the seams and waistband of the trunks possessed a thick, peripheral yellow and a thin, centre grey merge stripe. The G-string was an overall black item with bright yellow strings to highlight his thick ass and bulging package. And last, there was the red helmet with the Elysium emblem.

Despite his energetic mood, once Sam opened the door to the dressing area, he felt a dread cast over him.

"What are you doing?" he questioned deeply, his attention on the three older strippers by his changing room location.

"Nothing." One of them answered, amusing the other two. "We're preparing for the later show given you stole the main one from Sean."

"Well the studio is outside. Also, I stole nothing from Sean," Sam spoke coolly, making his way over to them. Despite towering over the three men, they showed no trepidation. They were even more amused, stepping away so Sam could enter his changing room.

He inspected his attire and safe. Was there any meddling? At first glance, he saw no changes. Or even slight modifications.

"So, how did you do it, _big guy_? Did you plead and beg Steve for the part? Or did you finally suck his dick after all these months?"

Sam scowled at them, giving them the middle finger.

"Nah, no one would want to suck Steve's tiny dick, anyway. He's just using him to make some more coin. Right, _big guy_?"

By the dressing room doorway was a smug Sean. He beckoned the older strippers towards him.

"Good job, _big guy_ ," Sean spoke, giving a quiet applause which the others took part in before subscribing to snickers, "You won. You've finally become the new Tristian."

As they left the room, Sean gave Sam one last look.

"Oh, _big guy_ …"

Sam pursed his lips, glowering at his scantly cladded mentor-turn-rival.

"…try not to get _too_ wet putting out those flames."

What was that supposed to mean…?

* * *

Men dressed in business casual attire surrounded the rounded platform stage, separated from the main deck by illumed orchestra pit fillers. They watched Steve swagger down the radiating aisles which made his metallic midnight blue jacket and trousers glitter. The Warren couple tipped their drinks towards him as he headed up the stairs, idly regarding the steel pole before turning his focus onto the audience.

"Isn't it a bit cold in here?"

Steve snapped his fingers.

The men cheered and lauded the multi-coloured flames which flared from the fringes of the platform, surrounding the circular stage whose outer rings slowly whirled. Steve removed his jacket, sporting his matching vest, before slinging it over his right shoulder.

"Here at Elysium we strive to satisfy your deepest, carnal desires. To provide you with not only a performance, but an experience of a lifetime. Our adroit dancers have primed you all up, from what I can see based on the tents in your pants."

Majority of the men laughed, while a few awkwardly adjusted the bulges jutting from their trousers. Steve continued walking along the stage, his subtle theatrics exciting the concourse.

"But the show is far from over. We aim to satisfy, not only energise. We have prepared a performance of epic proportions. One we guarantee will knock you all off your feet. A performance not by any dancer, but one that has grown into quite the celebrity since starting here."

Cheers resounded once more with some crying out Sam's name. Steve chuckled.

"Oh, you horn dogs cannot wait, can you," he said with a wink, "well, I will not keep you any longer. With the heat rising and flames blazing, we need our specialty firefighter on the case. Let me introduce you, or shall I say, re-introduce you to our one-and-only Sam the Man!"

Red and white spot lights shone from the pits, with the darkness taking hold throughout the room. They pointed at the second-story balcony to which the firefighter outfitted Sam appeared, flexing before his excited audience who plummeted him with great applause and wolf whistles. After a modest bow, Sam the Man grasped the pole with both hands. Then the sirens bellowed when he wrapped his brawny legs around the steel. With his index and middle fingers, he sent a kiss towards his ecstatic audience before wrapping his bulging arms around the pole, loosening the grip on his lower limbs so he could descend while the sirens faded. The room fell into complete silence upon him hitting the floor.

The plan was simple enough.

Rile up the crowd. Then flirt with each guy individually for tips. This had always been fool proof in his previous experiences.

He arched his palms before him, grinding his chest and hips, as the flames in front of him flared higher before dissipating. As the techno music began, he then clasped his hands at his front, gyrating downwards, before casting his arms outwards. Like before, the fire aside him broadened sky-high before scattering into nothingness. But then they returned. No longer by the stage's edges. But invading the centre. Sam approached Steve, directing his smooth body movements around his employer in efforts to rid the incoming shoots of fire.

Upon grinding his bubble ass against Steve, Sam could feel his boss' bulging cock twitching against him. He grinned, pushing himself further into the older man, who smacked his rear. Sam discarded his vest, twirling it around Steve before throwing it out into the crowd. He then tipped his helmet, placing it at the older man’s crotch before wagging his fingers and eyebrows, generating laughter and further arousal from his audience. Steve winked, leaving the stage which was then closed off from the audience by the interval-timed flames.

From there his dance continued the way they always did, with polished choreography incorporating thrusting, grinding, gyrating and flexing on and around the pole. As he ripped each clothing article off, the crowd's rowdiness magnified. The men enjoyed the glistening sweat enhancing his fair skin and highlighting the toned definition of his build's musculature. Even the Warrens could not maintain their composure, particularly the older one, whose eyes never left him. By the time Sam was left wearing only his G-string, he was confident everyone in the crowd had an erection. He grinned, grabbing his full crotch before jutting it forward to tease them even more.

It was then, Sam felt uneasy, a coolness filling him upon sensing that the G-string appeared to be looser than before. In fact, it seemed looser than when he first put it on. He gave his audience a nervous smile, determined to handle the matter after he completed the last thirty seconds of his show. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed the older strippers guiding Kujoe and Steve outside of Elysium.

What was Sean planning to do?

The flames advanced towards the centre open, prompting Sam to retreat there for his final move. He threw his head, grinding his hips and striding backwards while gesturing his hands at the combusting flames. Upon reaching the pole, the inner ring surrounding the centre stage turned, the smaller flames encircling him as he ground his back along the steel. The sirens echoed once more, Sam clasping the cool rod behind him before posturing his legs apart. He directed his gaze upwards and shifted his shoulders posterior. His arms descended downwards behind his back as he rocked his pelvis back and forth. Back and forth.

And once the flames flared again, Sam held out his open palm into the sky before gripping at the air with vigour. Straight away, water discharged from the ceiling, coating Sam's already glistening body and the stage as he thrusted his hips up and down; his hands behind his head. The onlookers bellowed their many praises, the cheers shaking the room as Sam finished his dance.

The young man grinned, radiating before giving his fans one last thrust.

And then it happened.

The sudden loss of support from his packed G-string caused it to launch forward into the audience. The thin strand of fabric dissolving mid-air before striking the younger Warren in the face. He cried aloud, cupping his right eye and turning towards his partner who quickly threw the undergarment into the pit. The music faded, the entire audience settling down as their attention shifted from the wealthy couple to the now denuded Samuel Christian. More specifically, the four-inch silicon packer hanging from his crotch.

Sam's entire body paralysed, unwilling. No. Unable to look at the spectacle below. His heart pummelled and breathing hastened. His sight expanded, taking in the audience whole. The hundreds upon hundreds of men looking at him as his assurgent fear gripped hold, yet still kept him hypervigilant of his growing embarrassment.

They stared, his patrons looking towards one another. Confused whether this was a part of the show or an unfortunate misstep.

But as Sam stood up straight, the trickling water from his skin stripped the silicone from his groin. The hollow packer plopped against the ground, rolling towards the rim of the stage.

Varied expressions issued through the audience. Some with raised, furrowed eyebrows and exaggerated blinks. Others with opened mouths and bulging eyes. But only one observed him with a bemused, rosy expression and a wide grin; laughing aloud as he gestured with his index fingers and thumb half-an-inch.

"Hey _big guy!_ Looks like you're missing something!" cried Sean aloud while pointing to the packer. Hoarse laughter escaped some men, who looked at the silicone item.

"Hell, it looks like he's missing everything!" cried one of the audience members pointing towards Sam's groin. Even more laughter echoed in the room.

A sharp frisson went through him. But instead of pleasure, it was humiliation. Aching insecurity and growing sombreness. Sam looked, paling at the sight of his half-an-inch fat nub poking above his swinging balls. He willed his hands to cover his shame, but his body would not cooperate. He merely gripped the pole, tighter and tighter; all eyes now on him!

"Look at that little thing! Are you a man, Sam?!" shouted a drunk man.

"Jesus dude! Is that a button for your balls?!"

"More like his third ball!"

Laughter resounded within the room. More and more men clutching their stomachs. Or guffawing like hyenas. Sam looked to find his stripper friends, the ones who had wished him congratulations on his academic achievements, clenching their fists and smiling. Looking away or right at him as they feebly attempted to obscure their amusement. The young man's voice hitched at his throat; mere squeaks and wavers of rudimentary English. His audience pelted him with peanuts and french fries, even baby carrots, far cries from the dollar bills he grew accustomed. But he just took it, unable to move a muscle to escape the humiliation.

"Hey, Sam the _boy_! Is this the grand finale?!"

"Of his career no doubt!"

More hilarity.

"I doubt that little tool could put a fire out!"

"Oh, isn't it cold?!"

"Fucking please! The _kid_ performed a fire dance."

The overwhelming attention. The never-ceasing cachinnations and convulsing. The verbal insults and physical gestures. They spun and spun in Sam's mind. Pushing his anxiety to the limits. Only to have an unheralded effect…

"Wait, is he getting a boner?!" cried Sean, pointing at the expanding nub at Sam's groin. His length unfurled and thickened, rising higher and higher before standing upright without reservation.

The gales of mirthful exuberance breached Sam's ears, his cock now so hard he met the atypical three inches compared to his normal two and four-fifths. But the seven percent difference bore no importance to his delighted audience, who were quick to call it out.

"He's got a freaking chode! Dude, you were seriously fucked over!"

"Aww, it's so cute. Look how it twitches."

"Damn, if only his dick was as big as his balls. I think I would've given him a chance."

Sam's cock twitched, each comment towards his lack of size making it harder and harder. He struggled to breathe, his staggered breaths matching the brisk rate of his pulse. A sensation built at the base of his erection, issuing his body with not only shame, but pleasure. He bit his lips, moaning aloud which made the men laugh even more.

"No way! Baby carrot is getting off on this!"

"I wonder if that little trigger can shoot. It barely entered puberty."

"Can you even cum _small guy_? Are you honestly as much of a man as you say you are?" questioned Sean aloud, making Sam flinch.

No. He can't. He cannot give Sean the satisfaction. At this point, his stripper 'friends' seemed confused. As if now coming to an agreement the humiliation of their tiny-dicked colleague was a sick joke. Some of them spoke frantically on their phones while the others' amusement faded away to concern, pivoted to watch the display.

Sam wagged his head, his flushing body trembling erratically. Every prevailing surge of conflicted pleasure spasmed throughout his upper and lower limbs. His balls swelled, drawing upwards between his legs, while his scrotum tightened and thickened. The laughter would not stop. It amplified eclipsing the music for the next act to be performed by…

"Kujoe, he's up there! He's not moving!" cried one of the employees.

"SAM!" shouted Kujoe, barging through the crowd who uttered profanity at him for disturbing their show. Some threw their food and drinks at him, but he focused his eyes solely on his friend.

"Sam! Snap out of it! Snap out of it!" he cried, shaking the shocked stripper.

"This is a nightmare. Please wake me up, Kujoe. Please…" uttered Sam, his voice both breathy and brittle.

Kujoe reluctantly shook his head, only for both men to jump at Steve's rich, booming voice.

"EVERYONE! GET OUT OF HERE AT ONCE!"

Sam met Steve's eyes.

The silvery orbs he grew to lust after.

The ones that comforted him. Opened him to who he truly was.

The ones that gave brazen stares to his deepest insecurity.

Oh no!

Sam gripped Kujoe's arms, pushing back against the pole. He clenched his toes and fingers, tightly closing his eyes. As the contractions at the base of his dick increased, Sam knew it was too late. He surpassed ejaculatory inevitability, his apexed pleasure flowing upwards and forcing him to thrust forward.

"Ngguggh!"

Kujoe, Steve and the ecstatic audience, watched, in awe, as ropes after ropes of thick, white semen shot from the reddened glans of Sam's three-inch prick. In awe at the robust jumps of his cock. Pulling downwards before a vehement ricochet upwards with each firing of his pistol. The audience laughed dodging the organic ammunition. Unfortunately, the far-reaching ammo assailed the youngest Warren, who shrieked aloud as the stripper's secret shame coated the front and left shoulder of his suit.

"Don't bother kicking us out! We're leaving!" cried the oldest Warren, collecting his sniffling partner before barging through the doors with their smirking and laughing guardsmen.

The strippers ushered the various patrons out of the room, growing aggressive upon noting some took pictures and videos of the spectacle.

"I-I-I–" stuttered Sam, regaining agency of his body. He fell to his arms and knees, scurrying about the stage deck to collect his packer.

In his haste, he knocked the silicone item over the pit, the false cock jetting over the gap and right into the dual palms of Sean. He waved it before Sam; the older strippers standing behind him hurling laughs after laughs.

"Just like Tristian?" questioned one of the tall men.

"Just like him. To the very inch. Well lack of," answered Sean, all of them in hysterics.

Kujoe's voice faded as Sam's surroundings wavered and grew dim.

The last thing he heard was:

"We got you, big guy."

Then darkness.

* * *

Sam laid in the small bunk bed in his shared room under his parent's home, staring under the top bunk for what seemed like hours. No matter how hard he tried to forget everything, the events replayed in his head over and over.

To the left laid his notebook computer, where he had tagged the various videos, photos, and articles online centred on his micropenis. Centred on his supposed sexual assault of the wealthy Warrens. The comments were the worst, not only ridiculing his size or remarkable display of the male ejaculation, but putting his name to it!

**_Sam?! Is that really you? What happened?!_ **

****

**_Whoa man! Who you pissed off to get short changed like that?!_ **

****

**_I can see why you work out so much dude?! I would too if I was hung like a field mouse._ **

And more scattered his social media profiles. After sometime, people did not even call him Sam or Samuel. Just the word 'firecracker' would invoke their amusement.

Of course, the viral nature of his humiliation extended to his personal life too. Above him, his phone blared with so many texts from friends and family (and sometimes even strangers), he had to silence them. Even his younger brothers, while overall supportive, felt compelled to take a piss at him here and there.

**_Hey baby bro, let us know if you need anything._ **

****

**_Aww Sam. It's cute. I'm sure you'll find a guy that loves it. Don't let it get you down. You got the balls._ **

****

**_Hey Sam! We love you and your small dick! Don't forget that!!!_ **

Beside his phone, laid his notice of dismissal. Not from Elysium, but from the job he had secured after graduation. He winced, knocking the paper away. He had failed his second goal before it even started. He could imagine his employer doing a cursory background review only to find in place of his academic prowess, his lack of sexual one. A diminutive cock and disproportionate balls on display and him cumming on one of the wealthiest persons in the west.

On the right though was his last pay cheque from Elysium. His arms unmoving as he used his wrist to flick it away.

He remembered walking through the red-light district. Hearing the snickers and observing the ridiculing gestures as he lugged himself to Elysium. For the first time after that night. None of the strippers spoke a word to him except for Kujoe, but even he was evasive. Sam was at least satisfied Sean was fired on the spot and his cohort of strippers suspended. Though that did not abate his disappointment upon learning of his own termination entering Steve's office.

"I understand…" muttered Sam, looking down at his feet while Steve sat behind the office desk before him.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Sam," responded Steve, looking at him. "We haven't pulled in the same profits since the party. It's not you–"

"Don't lie."

Steve froze, looking away.

"You told me yourself. The attractiveness of your men lies within their raw masculinity. I got the face; it's just the rest of the body did not match."

"Sam, it's more complicated than that."

"Is it Steve?" Sam spoke, his voice almost breaking yet remaining strong, "let's be honest. We provide these men a fantasy, right? They want that awesome body. That handsome face and smile. That strong, overwhelming confidence. And, of course, a big dick."

Sam chuckled, a spiteful one that harrowed Steve's expression.

"And when they saw their dream man packing less than a three incher, it turned into my nightmare. It's not okay, but it is what it is…but please answer this one question Steve."

The older man looked up; his eyes red. Sam stared deep into them.

"Is this what happened to Tristian? Because he did not measure up?

"Sam…"

"Please Steve. Just give me an honest answer."

Steve was silent, providing a gentle nod. But then he quickly stood once Sam prepared to leave.

"Big guy wait…"

Sam recoiled, still heading towards the door. He stopped at the crinkling of a belt and shirt. He turned to find Steve standing in his low-rise trunk boxer briefs before discarding them and revealing a small, thick uncircumcised cock, about an inch-and-a-half. His chest heaved upwards and down, his focus unmoving from Sam, who flushed in response.

"I understand. Please believe me when I say I get it. Sam, I care about you."

Sam smiled, tears settling in his eyes.

"Just like Tristian…right?"

He left the office, ignoring Steve's cries to return…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He roused from his bed.

"Sam?" spoke his father behind his bedroom door, "may I enter?"

"Yes sir," he responded.

His father slowly walked into the room.

He looked at his son, cladded in only a tee shirt and shorts, before sitting beside him on the bunk bed. Sam studied his father, who, even in his middle age, possessed a similar body build like him, and wondered why his genetic crapshoot had failed so significantly. Sure, none of the Christian men were hung like porn stars. But they had dicks. He had something that resembled one.

"How you're holding up, son?"

Sam shrugged, a gesture his father accepted.

"Give this some time, Sam. It'll soon pass."

"But, how much time dad? Ever since that day all I hear is how…small I am. Or how much of a pervert I am. Even the news channels are mocking me. I hate it."

His father gripped his shoulder, giving him a strong side hug.

"I know, son. I know. It seems like the world has thrown everything at you despite your efforts to overcome. But know that those that love you. That cares about you. Will always be there to support. To help you discover that man whom we all love."

Sam nodded.

"When will I see that man?"

His father smiled.

"When you realise you are that man."

His mother popped her head in the room.

"Honey, you have two visitors. They say they worked at that little bar you danced at in Cambridge? Let them in?

Sam nodded to which his father answered in the affirmative. His mother popped away, only to return with Kujoe and another black man. Sam blushed, cupping his groin. The ivory-chocolate skinned man stood a few inches taller than Kujoe with a massive body that surpassed Sam and his father. His gentle, hazel eyes gazed at the young man, before he offered a bright, yet subtle smile.

"I'll leave you men be. I'll talk to you later, son," spoke Sam's father before he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Been a while," started Kujoe, sitting beside Sam, to which he agreed.

"Yeah. How are things?"

"Fine. Nothing new."

"Cool…um. I'm sorry, but who is this?"

Kujoe chuckled as the larger man took Sam's hands and shook them. The firm grip took Sam aback.

"My name is Tristian. Tristian Washington," spoke the male, with a deep vaguely Yorkshire British accent.

Sam nodded, turning towards Kujoe.

"Tristian heard what happened to you and wanted to meet you in person. I know this is unexpected, but I thought it would be good since you both had…um…similar experiences."

Sam turned to Tristian, who chuckled at Kujoe.

"So, is that why you left Elysium? Sean humiliated you too?"

Tristian confirmed.

"I was stripping before the Bakers and he loosened the fabric on my micro trunks. After one flip too many, my pants tore into two. By the end of the night, everyone was talking about my black micro dick. Comments ranged from 'I thought all black guys had big dicks' to 'tootsie roll' before I got out of there. I heard Steve finally fired Sean. That's more than he ever did for me…"

Tristian looked sobered, allowing Kujoe to step in.

"It's been dead without you, Sam. Even with the shows picking up, no one is really happy to be there. It's just a job now."

Sam nodded, offering Tristian a chair by his desk, which he took.

"My exposure was not as public as yours, Sam. I cannot imagine what you're going through."

"Constant reminders I'm not big enough. You know, the usual."

Tristian nodded.

"Have you considered surgery?"

Sam laughed.

"I'm sorry Tristian. Without Elysium providing me with a pay cheque or me being able to get a job, I cannot even afford to think about surgery."

Tristian chuckled.

"Understandable. That's why I am here."

Sam looked up, considering Tristian for several moments. He narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Tristian removed his phone from his fitted jeans, shifting through a couple of photos before showing them to Sam. His eyes widened to find a modest dark shaft with a deep unsaturated warm apricot nub on the screen, before shifting to an erect photo that was marginally bigger. The next photos showcased a larger penis, though average in both flaccid and erect states.

"I-I-Is this you?"

Tristian nodded.

"He would have enlarged to about seven inches, but recovery was about three years overall. He wanted to make up for lost time."

Tristian chuckled, nudging Kujoe on his arm.

"The surgery is over $500,000 and no insurance covers it as of now given its experimental nature. However over eighty percent of men have been satisfied with the results, granted recovery time is lengthy and the sample size is still small."

Tristian put his phone away.

"Global E has been very supportive in aiding me to get this done. They know about you given the viral videos and photos and asked me to ask you if you would like to consider a job with them."

Sam's jaw dropped, generating amusement from Kujoe. After a few seconds, he nodded enthusiastically.

"Great! If you are willing, we can head over to the main office tomorrow morning," spoke Tristian, standing from his seat, "we will on-board you as early as next week."

"Thank you," spoke Sam, shaking Kujoe and Tristian's hands.

Tristian shook his head.

"Not a bother. You deserve it, after all you went through."

* * *

"Fuck! Fuck you, Sam. I made a mess." cried Sam's partner, their large cock shooting onto their shared bed, making both men fall into fits of laughter.

"Sorry, I told you to wear a condom."

"You're right," his partner spoke, turning over to kiss Sam along his warm lips, soon devolving into the larger man planting him onto the mattress. Their tongues fighting for dominance over the other.

At that moment, Sam's phone rang, breaking the spell between the two lovers. Sam held the gaze of his partner, before they shooed him away.

"Sometimes I would think you were an on-call doctor. But we screwed enough for one day."

Sam laughed, heading over to his phone before his partner told him to "wait."

"Let me get a good look at you."

Sam rolled his eyes, laughing as he showcased his broad, muscular arms and traps. His chiselled abs and pecs. His defined, globular glutes. His toned calves, quads, and hems. And last, of course, his throbbing two and four-fifth inch micropenis.

"Fuck. Five years and this never gets old."

Sam shook his head before giving his partner a wink. He collected his phone, heading over to the living area of their apartment to take the call.

"Good afternoon, this is Samuel Christian, how may I help you?"

"Long time no speak, big guy…"

Sam froze, before a small smile formed on his lips.

"Long time indeed," he murmured, "how are you, Steve?"

Steve chuckled.

"I'm well. I hear you are a manager over by Global E. And Tristian's director?"

"Correct. How did you know?"

"Kujoe did a training session with the new strippers. He told me when I asked. But how are you, Sam?"

Sam looked behind to find his partner struggling to manage his large erection in his boxers. He gave Sam an annoyed expression, rolling his eyes before gesturing towards his bulging tent and then towards his lover. Sam laughed, shaking his head before responding to Steve.

"Never better."


End file.
